


Renew

by Lori_S21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fix-It, M/M, mentions of that scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia is terribly injured and Daryl is pissed off with him. Paul honestly can’t tell which bothers him more.A poignant ‘fix it fic' for our boys with plenty of feels.





	Renew

**Author's Note:**

> **This popped into my head and had to be shared. My contribution to the recent flurry of wonderful ‘fix it fics' that are helping me stay sane. And as I always ask, do let me know what you think. No matter how brief, positive or critical, you have no idea what it means to me. _Warning: Refers to that scene of course._**

Paul was currently trying to decide which was making him feel more uncomfortable, the bandaged up stab wound through his back, or the other hole Daryl was currently trying to glare through his brain.

Sure, the wound had nearly killed him, or so he’s been told by Doctors Siddiq and Enid. And Aaron with his mournful eyes. And Eugene in his awkwardly logical, apologetic way. A stern-faced Michonne too. And Tara (well, she actually scolded him before Doctor Siddiq had come to his rescue, thank God). And yes, the injury made it so he couldn’t walk more than five feet away from his bed in Hilltop’s medical trailer. That had made for some fun times when it came to emptying his bladder (and worse). To cap it all off, the pain medication of questionable quality he was taking seemed to make him goggle stupidly at whoever was trying to make conversation with him. Or simply pass out in a foggy haze. There had even been drool on occasion. 

And now to quite literally add insult to injury, the all consuming agony of the stab wound had started to abate slightly whenever he actually listened to the doctor’s orders and just lay there. And didn't move. Or blink. Or breathe. But instead had become really itchy, which Siddiq had explained was in fact an improvement, a sign of healing and not imminent death by infection so that was a plus. 

He’ll take what he can get at this point. All he knows is the he really doesn’t recommend a knife in the back. It sucks. And he has to glib about it. If he thinks about the way that non-walker dodged him, the vicious words it growled into his ear as the knife hit home in a sudden, terrifying surge of indescribable pain…he might actually start screaming. He wants to keep that confined to the nightmares he gets during the precious few hours of sleep he scrapes together every night.

There seems to be a firm policy in place to not discuss the new threat in front of him. He eavesdrops anyway. If feels strange to be taken out of the equation when you’re supposed to be the leader of a community no matter how reluctant you are to have that title.

But Daryl was still _glaring_ at him.

“What?” He finally snapped at the figure skulking in the corner, surprising both of them. But he was bored, tired, in pain and _itchy_ and this just wasn’t what he needed right now. More confusing moments with Daryl Dixon. He wriggled in his bed, trying to rub the wound without popping his stitches. “No grapes?”

Daryl’s eyebrows climbed a few inches higher up his face, until they were hidden under his shaggy fringe. “What?”

“Grapes,” Paul gritted out. “You’re meant to bring them to sick people.” 

“You ain’t sick,” Daryl countered. “And where the hell am I meant to find…?” He trailed off, possibly realising how silly it sounded, that Paul wasn’t being entirely serious. He brought his thumb to his mouth, chewed uncertainly on the hangnail and had the grace to lower his gaze to his feet. “You’re mad.”

“So are you.”

“I should go…” Daryl said, already shuffling towards the exit.

“Sure, why stay now? Haven’t seen you for days. Wouldn’t want to break a habit.” Paul paused, took a deep breath. _Whoa there…_ He was tired and feeling pretty miserable and it wasn’t Daryl’s fault. Not entirely.

He’d had a steady stream of visitors, the people of Hilltop, his people, wishing him well. Tara with her gossip, hitting him repeatedly on the arm, eyes shining as she gently told him off. He knew she just couldn’t wait to ask him for advice and appreciated her holding back. Then there was Aaron. He was never far away. Aaron with his kindness and endless patience. No demands, just friendly conversation and his little jokes intended to cheer Paul up. Paul briefly wondered whether his near death experience had changed Aaron’s mind, that maybe he was starting to see Paul as more than a friend as they had previously agreed. Either way, he was grateful for him even if he was far too tanked up on possibly expired painkillers to begin to sift through his feelings for Aaron.

The only person he hadn’t seen was Daryl. Which was a shame. He was probably the only one who wouldn’t feel guilty for what had happened to Paul. It was exhausting trying to make others feel better about themselves when you’re the one who’s been skewered like a kebab. Aaron’s eyes looked positively haunted. At least company took his mind off whether the blade had perforated his kidneys. Or whether his hair looked as greasy as it felt. Or if Daryl liked his checkered pyjamas, even if the button up PJ shirt was only draped over his shoulders. The thought of sleeves made him want to cry right now but he had a nice big bandage crisscrossed over his chest for modesty. And to hold himself together. Standard things that can swirl around a guy’s head. 

But he missed Daryl. He was _always_ missing Daryl.

“Didn’t want to get in the way.” Daryl said in a low voice. It was the most pathetic excuse he’d ever heard and Paul actually had to close his eyes for a moment when he felt furious tears prickle hotly behind his lids. He dipped his head, hiding in his frustratingly lank hair. He was not going to cry in front of this man or anyone else for that matter. That wasn’t his style. It was the painkillers, he knew logically. But also those words hurt like hell. 

He had to face the knowledge that Daryl simply didn’t care about him. 

It was hardly new information. Daryl had stopped visiting Hilltop a long time ago. Paul had once told Aaron it was because he preferred being outdoors, untethered to any community after Rick’s death. But deep down, he knew it was him. Daryl didn’t want to see him. He wanted to get far away from what they had. Or what Paul thought they’d had, as it turns out. And when Paul had tried to visit him a handful of times, he’d been so surly and unresponsive, that eventually he’d stopped trying altogether. Five years. Five years is a heck of a long time to wait for someone. Paul felt so stupid when he realised that was exactly what he’d been doing. 

And now here Daryl was, like some kind of sick, cosmic joke. _Daryl finally turns up and I get stabbed. Perfect._

“Hey, are you okay?” He felt the lightest pressure skim over the back of his hand. A calloused grip he knew very well. He hadn’t even heard Daryl approach. Those painkillers really made you zone out, it would seem.

He blearily peered up to find Daryl hovering by his side, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, eyes fixed on him. He looked anxious. Paul couldn’t let that melt his heart. 

“Peachy.” Paul rasped out, thumping his head back against the headboard.

“You got something you wanna say?” And that was more like it. That spark he could always flare up in him so easily. No one was supposed to talk to him like that right now, it was so refreshing. 

“You’re the one doing all the glaring,” Paul said with a shrug he immediately regretted. No movements at all if he can help it, that’s the golden rule. He gasped out loud from the sudden flash of pain.

Daryl sat in the visitor’s chair so he was by his side right at eye level which was actually pretty thoughtful. “You need more drugs? I knew those would be shit but they were all I could find.”

His head snapped up then and he tried to focus on Daryl’s surly, rugged, stupidly handsome face, damn him. “You found them?” He’d been wondering about that. Hilltop really hadn't been very well stocked to deal with his level of injury.

Daryl wouldn’t quite meet his eyes and his tone had a forced casualness about it. “Went on a run. Knew y’all were getting low on just about everything.”

It was so good to have him actually talking that Paul nearly started crying again. He forced himself to get a grip, knowing Daryl couldn't handle that sight. “So that’s where you’ve been?” He forced out around a lump in his throat as his words finally hit home.

Daryl nodded. “Waited until the blood transfusion took. ’Til I knew you were okay…” He trailed off, words seemingly designed to alleviate Paul’s fears without him even having to voice them. How did Daryl do that? Sometimes he said the very worst things and other times…

“You _do_ care.” Paul said quietly enough that he almost hoped Daryl couldn't hear him. He reached over and took his hand in his, before closing his eyes again. He didn't want to see any more rejection there. “Thank you.” He added weakly, nearly all his anger draining away. He was so tried. He hoped Daryl knew he was thanking him not just for the medicine, but for his words as well.

Daryl’s hand squeezed his and Paul leaned back into the pillow, trying not to whimper from the pain because that would probably make Daryl go away again. He could smell him, the scent of clean sweat, woodsmoke, leather and the forest. Just the way he remembered. His hand was calloused and very warm. He remembered that too. He remembered hesitant kisses and touches, growing bolder as time went on. And then he left as abruptly as their lives had originally collided. 

Daryl didn't hesitate as he added his other hand on top, clasping Paul’s between his.

“I nearly killed you,” He admitted, voice wavering with suppressed emotion. Paul stilled at his words before squeezing his hand again to show he was listening. Maybe Daryl could only tell him this whilst Paul was semi conscious.

“You passed out and I thought…We all thought you were dead.” Daryl choked out a little clumsily. “I killed the guy that got you. And after we called a truce - you don't need to know ‘bout that - I got you in my arms.” Paul looked up, took in Daryl’s expression. He was resolutely staring at their hands and his face was twisted in pain. “You were all still and I was gonna do it. I had my knife and I would’ve…” He actually started to shake at the memory. “But you didn’t turn. You didn’t turn.” He repeated flatly, a horrible emptiness in his voice. 

Paul realised what he meant a fraction too slowly, cursing those expired painkillers. “Daryl…” He whispered, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

Daryl had been prepared to stop him from turning. He can’t imagine what that would feel like if their positions had been reversed. He’d feel like dying himself.

“M’sorry, I can’t…” Daryl began to pull away.

“Don’t…” Was all he could get out, weak and desperate, drawing Daryl closer and fortunately he didn’t have to try too hard. If Daryl had yanked his hand out of his grip, it would have really hurt him. Maybe that’s why he came to Paul so easily. Or maybe he just had to kiss Paul as badly as Paul needed to kiss him.

He didn’t know what else to say, how else to tell this man how he felt. He’d been trying for years now. He had no way to make it right, to alleviate the trauma Daryl had been through. He could only reassure him that he was alive, that they both were and he still felt like this and probably always would do. But that didn’t mater right now. It wasn’t about that. It was about comfort and it was something they both needed.

Daryl cradled his face as if Paul were precious. He pressed gentle but firm kisses that Paul returned eagerly. His hands went to Daryl’s hair and he ignored the twinge of pain that induced. Daryl seemed to know because he gently lowered Paul back onto the bed, leaning down so Paul wouldn't have to stretch. He took shallow, shuddering breaths against Paul’s lips, hands trailing over facial hair. Paul’s face flushed and he tried to draw him closer.

So that’s when Daryl pulled back which was pretty typical of their relationship really.

They stared into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Daryl brushed a lock of Paul’s hair back behind his ear which made him shiver from the touch. “It wasn’t your fault.” Paul breathed.

“I made us switch,” Daryl said, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“You were trying to keep me safe,” Paul countered, he stroked Daryl’s bicep, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath the soft material. Drugs were wild.

Daryl winced, almost looking like Paul had slapped him. “Worked out real good.” 

“I don’t know,” Paul tried on a small smile for size. It had been a while. “Got you to visit, didn’t it?”

Daryl actually had the nerve to try an eye roll but it was better than tears. “If you want me to visit, just say. Don’t get stabbed, idiot.” 

“Ignoring the fact I’ve only asked you to visit about a million times…” Paul brushed the thought away, ignoring the insult which he thought was pretty big of him. It was too complicated, too painful to go into now. “Why were you so mad at me before?”

Sadly it had the effect of wiping any signs of humour off of Daryl’s face. He retreated back into his chair and Paul tried not to pout at this development. 

“You. Being a fucking ninja.” Daryl growled and that was all he needed to say.

“Oh.” He wondered when that was coming. He’d stayed back to clear up the remaining walkers, to give an injured Eugene and the others time to escape. How was he supposed to know a fucking lunatic in a walker skin was hiding in plain sight? 

Daryl had not been impressed when he blurted this out. His eyes narrowed into angry little slits. “You were having fun.” Daryl hissed out and he had him there. Hilltop had been suffocating him. He was fighting again, helping his friends in a fight he was sure he couldn’t lose. Showed what he knew.

And suddenly he was there again, in the darkness and the fog, the memory ripping through him like a blade. The unexpected horrendous pain, the coldness spreading through his entire body… He started to shake, body breaking out in a cold sweat, bile in his throat.

Then Daryl’s arms were around him, enveloping him in soft flannel. He leaned into his warmth as Daryl's hand carded roughly through his hair clumsily. He was trying to be soothing, he knew, and appreciated the effort. There wasn’t much room for them both on the bed, but he was comfier than he’d been in a long time, head tucked into Daryl’s throat.

“I’m sorry, okay? M’sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

“What was that thing?” He asked through numb lips. He’d only heard whispers, a terse explanation. He shuddered in Daryl’s arms, trying to pull himself together. He decided to cut himself some slack. He’d undergone a life-threatening injury, was severely wounded, suffered huge trauma and was possibly high on expired painkillers. Not to mention the whole ‘being cradled in the love of his life’s arms.’

“Doesn’t matter. I killed his ass.” Daryl’s voice rumbled under his ear and he sounded strangely proud and satisfied. Paul couldn't help but smile despite the grim thought that followed. Daryl’s other hand pulled his night shirt more firmly round him, careful not to jostle his back. 

“And the rest?” 

“We’ll handle it.” He sounded pretty grim so that closed off that line of conversation. 

“I missed you…” He slurred before cursing internally. His defences were down. Sod it. Daryl would just have to deal with the outpouring of honesty. It’s not as if things could break down even more between them.

Daryl’s hands paused in Paul’s hair before continuing more softly. They found their way right to his roots and it felt amazing. He hummed softly under his breath. Daryl’s other hand clenched his arm, as if to reassure himself Paul was still there. It forcibly reminded him of another occasion they had been close like this. One time in the forest outside of Hilltop. In Daryl’s arms, pressed back against a tree. Heated kisses, bodies as close as they could be and trying to push closer. Daryl’s hands growing bolder, sliding under his shirt to explore smooth skin. 

When a walker had lunged for them Paul thought it had really been a mood killer, that Daryl would back away in horror after such a close call. Turned out it made him really want to continue, ablaze with adrenaline. He practically dragged Paul back to his trailer like a caveman. In fact, it had been their first…

Paul sternly told himself to behave. His drugged and injured body was responding to the memories reignited by Daryl’s touch. Daryl was warm and strong and he wanted him so much, always has. But now wasn't the time. It would be like taking advantage and he was too injured to act on his body’s demands. He sure didn’t feel sexy right now anyway.

“You going to stick around this time?” He added, knowing that even this was pushing it. Possibly even exploiting his injury. Well, if he could get something out of it, this would be a great start. It was a dream he knew, but you couldn’t blame a guy for trying.

Daryl grunted. “For a while.” He replied ominously, sounding serious and completely unaware of Paul’s urges. That’s right. A new threat, he would be needed. Paul needed him anyway but he had just enough sense left to keep that to himself.

“Hang around long enough and I’ll be fighting fit in a few weeks,” He said optimistically and simply could not resist cheekily adding: “You’ll be able to try this body out again.”

Daryl sounded torn between scandalised and amused. Anything that took his mind off these so called ‘whisperers’ (Paul has big ears when he wants and had been extremely bored). “I ain’t fighting you!”

“Not what I meant.” Paul replied with just a hint of a suggestion in his voice.

It took a beat for his words to sink in and Daryl squeezed his shoulder in warning. “Stop.” He said, but not as though he particularly minded. If Paul had the energy to lift his head, he bet Daryl would be wearing his little half-smile.

“I’m on drugs,” Paul blurted out apologetically by way of explanation.

“So you keep saying.” And that was mildly concerning because he thought he hadn't actually said that out loud before now but apparently he had. He wondered what other gems he had been sharing and did he really just proposition Daryl? _Oh great._

“Go to sleep, Paul.” Daryl’s voice rumbled and his arms wrapped around him tighter. He was so comfortable. “You look worse than them walkers.”

“Charming…” Paul answered with a smile in his voice before yawning so hard his jaw cracked. _Who am I trying to impress? The ‘Miss Just Been Stabbed Apocalyptic Beauty Pageant?’_ Daryl made a noise that was somewhere between horrified and amused and he realised there was the slightest possibly he may have said that out loud too. So tactful. 

He allowed himself to drift off in Daryl’s arms. He knew it didn't change anything between them. He knew that when he wakes up, there’s a good chance Daryl will already be gone, running errands or back in the wilderness. But his embrace was so warm and soothing that he couldn't find it in himself to care at that moment. It was worth it. 

“Stick around…” He slurred against Daryl’s neck, arms winding around his middle.

He thinks he heard Daryl reply with an: “I will.” 

If it’s a dream, he’ll happily take it.


End file.
